by Y A Marks
To God
For blessing me with this gift.
Copyright 2016-2019, Y.A. Marks
All Rights Reserved.
V20190808
This novel is a work of fiction. Any characters, places, or events described in this publication are used fictitiously, or are entirely fictional.
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Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
Finishing Acks
CHAPTER 1
The doors to the subway snapped open before a crackle rolled into the cabin.
Goosebumps spread over my skin as I took several deep breaths trying to calm the anxiety in my stomach. I tightened my hands around my backpack straps and exited the train. A second later, an announcement radiated over the busted loud speakers with words that crumbled before my ears could make them out.
“Nex’ ‘top, Lendbergh ‘enter.”
The announcement replayed in Spanish, Korean, and Chinese.
Thousands of eyes watched me, mostly human, a few robotic, but the most dangerous were the ones that lingered in the corners spying me through large dark orbs and adjusting camera lenses. I flipped over the top of my hoodie and lowered my head.
My stomach squeezed the last of my breakfast. The mushy pulp wanted to go either up or down, but everything within me constricted. I had exactly one hour to get this right and get out of Buckhead before I called too much attention to myself… or worse.
Buckhead was the few square miles of super-rich that still existed on the Lower Tier of the city. Most of them had abandoned the area before I was born. They moved to the Middle Tier, which existed twenty stories above the ground, or in the Upper Tier, which was fifteen stories above that. If someone had money—real money, mega money—they lived even higher than that in something called the Summit—a flying saucer style envirodome.
I slid out of the building, zigzagging through the crowd to keep away from any sensors, which could identify my digital tracking tag. The D-tags were great for what I personally had come to Buckhead to do. They were a pain in every other way, especially because they were implanted near the clavicle.
Human babies were tagged three months into life—no more lost children, no more kidnappings, no need to carry identification, and no more privacy.
I crossed the street and passed through a work-play-live parking lot. A mother lifted her baby daughter from a van that was newly equipped with the latest hover technology. She froze statuesque, her eyes slowly rolling as I passed by. I kept my eyes forward, but her gaze clawed at my arteries and ran unyielding down my back.
My hoodie was in great shape. It only had a few frayed edges and a broken zipper. My backpack was new. My jeans were faded, but that was the going trend among teens. Same thing went for my black boots. She couldn’t know I was Lower Class or Lower-C.
On the other side of the parking lot, I thumped down the stairway and powered through the metal door.
Once back on the street, I glanced at my personal communication device. The PCD’s screen glowed a picture of me and my mom. We appeared almost the same; brown hair, brown eyes, round faces and ivory skin. I focused beyond the two faces to the numbers near the middle. 2:18 PM.
“Crix!” I cursed. I was almost out of time.
I picked up speed and dashed down a few more streets, working my way toward the Peachtree and Wieuca. The sky opened up and the sun rays stretched toward the intersection as I arrived. Maybe there was still enough time for me today.
I took a seat on the concrete railing and caught my breath. My heart hammered around inside me, and a gigantic rubber band tightened between my shoulder blades.
“Keep calm, Paeton. We’ve done this a thousand times. No big deal.”
I didn’t like what I had to do, but it was the only way. I’d tried the right way. The way that all those stuffed shirt, ego idiots told me, but in the end they didn’t give a flying fiddle stick about me and my problems.
I glanced at a picture plastered over a billboard. A round old white man grinned back. Beside the picture were the words “Vote Governor Read, the One You Need!”
I rolled my eyes and waited… and waited… and waited.
Another check of my PCD and three o’clock laughed. I leaned back and stared into the blue sky. Hundreds of hovercars passed through my vision.
If this didn’t work, everything would crumble. I wouldn’t be able to face myself. Too much planning had gone into this. I wouldn’t be able to recover for at least a week if I even got the chance. Every move was dangerous.
My fingers rolled into fists. Tremors overtook my body, and all of my control was needed to keep from screaming at the top of my lungs to a world that didn’t care about my existence.
A growl followed by the light scent of moisture touched my nostrils. My eyes rolled down followed by my face.
A large man stepped out of a magnacar. He wiped his lips and removed his wedding ring, placing it in his pocket. A wide grin stretched over his face. The closer he moved toward me, the wider his grin became. I quickly nicknamed him Mr. Cheater.
He stepped inside a small circle drawn over the concrete. A wall made of light appeared around him as a small machine stretched up from the ground. In less than five minutes, he had completed his work. The light wall faded, and he turned back around toward his magnacar.
I rolled the last bit of tension from my back and exhaled into the thickening air. The time had finally arrived.
I hopped from my place on the wall, my hoodie fully covering my forehead. I’m sure he could see my smile, but I did my best to hold it in. I reached around in my front pocket and touched my small, square-shaped scanner. A low, almost inaudible beep sounded.
The gloss of Mr. Cheater’s eyes and the tightness of his cheeks let me know today was a special day. I, like him, was excited that this moment had finally arrived.
I dashed forward, my hands in my pockets, my eyes low. This was it. This is what I had been waiting for. I tripped on loose rocks and bumped into Mr. Cheater.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” I said.
He turned toward me, a scowl contracting his face.
“Get away from me, you little...” His voice faded away as he glanced around the empty street. A few hovercars zipped in the distance, but none were within earshot. He bowed his head for a moment and jogged a few steps before returning to a normal pace.
“I don’t see why they don’t clean this place up from no-c vermin,” he mumbled.
He was definitely in a hurry to get to his mystery person, or maybe he was just ready to get away from me. Either way, he was in a rush and probably wouldn’t be coming back. If he came back for his PCD or coffee or some other item, things could g
et really awkward.
He glanced back one more time then lifted the door to his magnacar, got in, and shut the door. The blue rockets on the back of the magnacar illuminated, and gradually the magnacar became a tiny dot in the distance. There were a few hovercars flying above the highway and a dual-rotor heliplane whizzed overhead. All of the vehicles swarmed against the tall, gleaming buildings of Atlanta’s skyline.
I smiled at the memory of Mr. Cheater and congratulated myself on his name. I liked making up nicknames and even backstories for people. It was something I’d learned from my mom. She never could remember people’s names, and would refer to someone as the Dog-Walking Guy or the Overly Friendly Woman. I had done it for so long, it had become easier to remember people that way. Half of them I’d never see again anyway, but before my mom died, we’d have conversations at the dinner table about all the people we saw during the day. She’d ask, “So what happened after school?” and I’d respond, “The PCD-Talking Driver picked me up and scolded the Blushing Girl when she got angry with the Curly-Headed Blonde.”
I double checked my hoodie and stretched the hood further down over my eyes to my nose. The hoodie was loose-fitting so this was pretty easy. With slightly-worn holes in the hood, my vision was only partially obscured.
I took off my headband, which made my brown hair fall around my face in a lopsided mess. I placed the headband under my neck and tucked it into the top of my shirt. The headband was outfitted with a metal that cost five hundred credits. The guy who sold it to me said it would suppress my D-Tag. I was reluctant because the guy looked like he might want to cut me up and sell my organs, but the metal hadn’t let me down so far.
After I walked into the circle, the wall of light enclosed me. The mechanical base slid up. The words “Peachcity Bank and Trust” appeared on the wall in bright red letters. Right underneath were the words “Automatic Teller Machine.”
I pulled out my scanner that I had prepped a moment ago. Sure enough, Mr. Cheater’s sixteen-digit D-Tag shone brightly on the LED display.
The bad thing about D-tags was that they tracked you. The great thing about D-Tags was that the signals could be stolen—well, borrowed—by scanners like mine.
A grin stretched across my cheeks as I tapped the holographic display. I pulled out my credit fob. I honestly had no idea how someone came up with the name “fob.” I’d heard it used to be like a pocket watch or something. These days, people used tiny spinning-top-shaped fobs to carry a certain amount of cash, like a prepaid credit card. At one time, companies wanted to link PCDs to bank accounts, but it was far too easy to hack a PCD or just to steal one. Then a crook could go on a shopping spree with a flick of the wrist. The fob was better because it made sure someone could only lose a portion of their money. For people like me and Mr. Cheater, the fob allowed for anonymous payments and withdrawals.
I put the fob into the fob socket and locked it into place. Then I pressed a few buttons to scan the D-Tag. The last things I had to do were put my left hand on the machine’s console and tighten my right hand into a fist behind my back.
Our hands held our class chips, usually implanted in our right hands. That’s why my left hand was so odd. Almost every single computer I came to responded to my left hand. The computer would simply activate or allow me access to things I shouldn’t be able to see. You could say this last part was my good luck charm. I don’t know exactly why it worked, but it did. And I needed luck, lots of it.
Within a few seconds, the machine showed me the contents of Mr. Cheater’s account. He wasn’t as rich as I had hoped, but it was to be expected. I hadn’t gone fully into the rich world of Buckhead, because that would have caused more problems with the sensors tracking my D-Tag for advertisements or security concerns. So I guess 3,000 credits would have to do. Sure, I could buy a nice camera with the money, a new computer system, or maybe enough clothes for the winter, but I had a few people depending on me and my little good luck charm.
I sure hoped Mr. Cheater enjoyed his night, because I was going to enjoy mine.
I completed my transaction and stored the fob in my pocket. The wall of light faded, and I turned around.
Mr. Cheater stood on the sidewalk, his eyes fiery and his PCD open. By the look on his face, I had a feeling he had just checked the app to his bank account.
Yep, that was awkward.
CHAPTER 2
My lips pressed against each other. Sweat clawed its way through my temples and slid around my cold ears.
Mr. Cheater’s eyes compressed into slits. The iris and the whites buried themselves in shadow. “You little bitch.”
In the distance, a low circling siren wailed. The sound grew closer along with the light roar of vehicles.
My mind blanked. I stood there paralyzed, my fingers trembling, my knees wobbly.
I had to get it together and quick. I couldn’t go into the one-way jail system. I had responsibilities. There were people counting on me.
Focusing, I closed my eyes. Mr. Cheater stood in my path. The train was my way out of Buckhead, but I’d have to lose him and the pop-out-of-nowhere cops. My eyes rolled toward the sky looking for the police, before rolling left and right. The siren neared, but something was off. I’d worry about that later.
My mouth pooled just enough saliva to wet my parched throat. He was old, at least forty, and not in the best shape. I could do this.
He took a step, and I dashed forward, closing the distance between us. He yelled out a few profanities, but when I was five feet away, his eyes flinched. It was just a millimeter, but it was enough to show a bit of fear.
“Aghhhh!” I yelled.
He lifted his arms, shielding himself from a weapon I didn’t have. I spun around him and dashed across the street. A magnacar swerved around me and halted. The driver’s face widened with shock.
As I picked up pace again, Mr. Cheater took a few steps into the street as a police magnacar air-blasted to a stop. The cop hopped out of the car just as I made it to a set of trees and disappeared back into the work-play-live area. I yanked on the exit door of the stairwell. Once inside, I turned toward the window to see one human cop and one android cop—I hated androids. Oh, how much I hated them. The cops glanced around and dashed across the street.
“Crix.” The curse word cut through my teeth.
I couldn’t stay still or come close to either one of them. They could scan my D-Tag and Class Chip. They’d learn I shouldn’t have been there.
“Crix!”
I yanked off my backpack and moved it around to my stomach. My hands picked through the rolled up clothing inside. Being homeless, all of my possessions stayed with me: four shirts, two pairs of jeans, as much makeup as I could store, and a few bags of accessories.
I pulled out my fourth shirt, a blue and white lace top, and a floppy light gray hat with the word “Happy” written on the front. I crossed the parking lot and entered the stairwell on the other side. There I tore off my hoodie, shirt, and headband and put on the blue top and hat. I placed my previous clothes in the backpack and ran up a flight of stairs, lightly tapping each stair. I walked across the parking lot and waited near one of the security gates to the condos, pulling my hair into a bun.
The stairwell door on the opposite side opened. The human cop appeared. I could barely see him through the hills and valleys of the parked magnacars. His head twirled as he searched for me.
My stomach tightened and rolled. I lifted my PCD and reversed the camera to see myself. I exhaled over and over, trying to calm my nerves. I slid on a new shade of lip gloss, only slightly marking outside my lip lines.
The cop spun around toward me as a thump radiated through the parking lot. A thin woman shuffled over with two large grocery bags in her hands. A card swung on her neck which said “Upper-Tier Access Nurse.” I studied the woman. A baby bottle stuck out near the top of the bag. A nametag bounced under her Upper-Tier Access card—Gretchen something or other. I could barely make out the tiny letters underneath.
She neared me and the door next to me. The cop turned around and eyed me. His chest rose, and he jogged in my direction. His hands disappeared around his side—probably going for his gun.
My attention left him and fell on the woman. She was my only hope. I smiled and stood up straight as she neared. The access card flopped over the nametag as the woman shifted her weight to move around the bags and her purse.
The cop’s footsteps pounded in my ears. All other sounds faded away into a muck of nothing.
I stored my PCD in my pocket and turned toward the woman. My best expression glowed on my face. Her expression widened as she neared. I stared at the nametag. Gretchen… Gretchen… Gretchen What? What was her last name?
The cop pulled out a gun and held it low to his side. He was twenty feet behind the woman.
The woman drew within arm’s reach. Her nametag shifted to the side. I couldn’t see the whole name Gretchen, Joh-something—Johnson, Johns, Johannsen?
The woman reached me. The lighted lock above the door turned yellow. It had scanned her D-Tag. It wanted something else. Of course, it wanted my D-tag which was invalid, but—I pressed my lucky left hand against the sensor near the door frame. The lock turned green. I opened the door and stepped to the side. The woman pulled her right hand back.
“Why thank you,” the woman said.
“No problem, Ms. J,” I said as cheerfully as possible.
She walked through the doorway and I followed, allowing the door to click shut.
“How’s the baby?” I asked. “Do you have any more pictures?”
“Yeah, I do.”
I didn’t turn around to acknowledge the cop standing at the gate. I’m sure he was shocked that I was able to open the door. He’d have no reason to believe I didn’t live here, especially with Ms. J talking to me so kindly.
I walked Ms. J to her condo. She never once asked me who I was. Typically, most people get so embarrassed that they don’t say anything. They just play it off. She asked me a few questions about school, like I actually went to High School. I giggled and said that I was doing well in English but was having a hard time in science and math. I even made up a story about a guy named Braxden and how he actually had a crush on a girl named Sydney, but that I really liked him.